From the neighbor's garage

From the neighbor's garage to her back door there were sixteen small square slates of stone to walk on. I would watch many times from our garden when Mrs. Costello would park her car, then walk those sixteen squares to her back door. Each square she stepped on, she would raise her eyebrow. I sat in front of the mirror and practiced it for days. I finally mastered it— but we didn't have the stone path.